


Ghosts

by klytaemnestra (klytae)



Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [20]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26208151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klytae/pseuds/klytaemnestra
Summary: They are both damaged relics from a bygone era, but here together, their bodies entwined as they speak in soft private ways, lips bare inches apart, fingers interlocked, he is content. For the first time, they are afforded a quiet life together.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915873
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	Ghosts

Tseng awakens to the familiarity of Rufus Shinra in his arms. It’s been 3 days since his presumably dead lover had appeared in the doorway, and Tseng intends to make the very most of the time that they have been given. He’s not one to take for granted what little comforts he is afforded, and the sight of Rufus warm and alive, blonde head tucked against his shoulder, fills him with a type of unfathomable gratitude, and not for the first time Tseng finds himself counting his breaths, fearful still that he might find him gone.

Rufus makes a soft noise in his sleep, brow contorting ever so slightly as he stirs. Another nightmare, Tseng suspects. He is hesitant to wake him, instead wrapping an arm around Rufus’ shoulder until he stills. A handful of moments later, Rufus blinks up at him with light eyes.

‘What?’

‘You were dreaming again.’

‘Was I?’

Tseng does not need to ask of what he dreams, knowing that he must be plagued by memories, and visions of Midgar, the blast. Knows he has his own nightmares of cold steel, warm blood, and emotionless catlike eyes of venomous green. They have not talked of those events, not yet, though Tseng longs to know the how and why of Rufus’ survival, by all accounts he should have died there, they both should have, and it feels almost fatalistic to question this, that whatever forces within the universe have allowed them a second chance.

Rufus leans up to press a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw, murmurs something nearly inaudible, and snuggles closer. Tseng smiles and holds him.

They have done nothing but lay together in the secluded quiet of these rooms, only rising for food, or wine. Their stores aren’t as well stocked as before, but Rufus keeps a surplus of jars of caviar, and cases of champagne. And for the time being Tseng is happy to live out this final bit of luxury together, closed up their private world as if nothing has changed between them.

They touch each other as if they are the same, even as his scar seizes up from time to time, and Rufus stares back at him with unfocused eyes. It’s easy to pretend here alone that this is nothing more than another stolen weekend. He’s lost count of the times they’ve fucked, six, maybe eight times, perhaps more. Though they no longer have the stamina they once did, and for all of Rufus’ enthusiasm, he is still recovering. His legs continue to give him issues, and his back aches in a way that makes certain positions less ideal. They are both damaged relics from a bygone era, but here together, their bodies entwined as they speak in soft private ways, lips bare inches apart, fingers interlocked, he is content. For the first time, they are allowed a quiet life together.

They shower together, Tseng’s touch steadying as they smooth hands over soapy bodies, the scent of rosemary and bergamot rising on the steam, and when Rufus ducks under the fall of water, he pulls Tseng in for a kiss, hand finding his cock, and working him to a quick release. It’s a bit like they're reliving their earliest days together, Tseng thinks, as he drops to his knees and expertly takes Rufus’ into his mouth. Rufus nearly slips once, braced against the shower tiles, and when he comes he stares up at the soft lighting above and shudders out his release with a soft sigh. They wrap one another in plush towels, limbs still entwined, and kiss again with mouths tasting of lavender and mint, and for a time they lay together beneath a blanket on the sofa, naked bodies pressed close, and listen to their shared heartbeats.

There’s not much in the way of television these days aside from the news reports broadcast from satellite locations, but Tseng finds a classic movie. Rufus stares at the screen, blues eyes intently focused on the leading lady all dressed in white as she recites her lines with expert delivery. Tseng pauses, his hand finding Rufus’ and squeezing.

‘I never watched her films.’ Rufus’ murmurs.

Theodora Shinra. Brilliant comedienne. Tseng cannot say for certain he’s ever seen one in full. Her films rarely got an international release, and by the time he had come to Midgar, her films were little more than a memory. Rufus rarely ever spoke of her, what words he said were always ones of fondness, as if she had been the only person to ever truly care for him. Though, Tseng grudgingly suspects that at some point Rufus’ own father had loved him, making their contentious relationship all the more palpable.

After a while they’re laughing together, watching the woman who had been Rufus’ mother. She reminds Tseng so very much of Rufus, that in that moment he almost feels pity for the late President, the man who had loved this brilliant, vibrant woman, and had lost her all too soon. Losing Rufus had nearly broken him, as well.

It’s mid-afternoon before they dress, suits eschewed for loungewear, Tseng in a dark robe and soft pyjama bottoms, something frivolous Rufus had insisted he wear during their time here in Junon years before, and Rufus as always in silken white. Rufus withdraws a tin of caviar, two coupe glasses, and a bottle of champagne. There’s a certain absurdity to it all as Rufus passes him a triangle of toast covered in creme fraiche and caviar, before taking a sip of his champagne.

‘I suppose we’ll need to make a supply run in a few days.’ They can not sustain themselves on caviar alone. ‘Though, that may need to be you. I’m still a bit worried I’m not very inconspicuous.’

Tseng looks at Rufus there, light blonde hair a little longer than before, but still so very painfully obviously the former President of Shinra. That face had been plastered on every newspaper, magazine, and tabloid in recent months, and no one could forget him. Being in Rufus’ presence was like standing before a winter sun. Frigid even in its brilliance, but when it shone on you, it was as if one was the most important person in the world. Tseng loves that brilliance enough to be burned by it. And when he lifts a glass of champagne to his lips, allowing the bubbles to subtly play against his tongue, he sees the way Rufus smiles at him, and how that sun has somehow dimmed.

They will need to talk, Tseng acknowledges, and soon. There is too much that has been left unsaid, and to have another chance. Tseng reaches out, pulls Rufus close against him. Ever since Rufus came back from the dead, Tseng finds he cannot get close enough, and as he simply holds him, breathing in the scent of that expensive shampoo, he considers what future they might make together now.

They are kissing then. Rufus tastes of the subtle tang of salt, and seaweed, and expensive champagne. And when Tseng lowers him against the rug, Rufus sighs. He pushes open the silken robe, gently, fingertips tracing along the expanse of his lover’s chest and torso, there is still the faintest marks of bruising from broken ribs, and Tseng leans forward to flutter kisses against each, every new scar a testament that Rufus Shinra has lived. Rufus makes a soft contented sound and reclines back, allowing Tseng to do with him as he pleases. Tseng sweeps his tongue across a nipple, enjoying the way it hardens beneath the touch, then the other. He knows every line, and curve, and jut of bone, hands smoothing across muscles as he moves to straddle slim hips.

‘Tseng.’ The word is barely more than breathing as Rufus arches up beneath him. Tseng shushes him with the slightest brush of fingers against his lips, as he withdraws for a moment. When he returns he is clad only in his robe, and that half off him. The scar on his torso is a reminder of what nearly separated them, and as he once more settles above his lover, Rufus rests a hand against it.

There will be time yet for that later. ‘Rufus.’ Light eyes meet his, and if Tseng did not know each detail of Rufus’ body, it would be nearly impossible to tell that one is irreparably damaged. ‘I need you to relax and trust me.’

Rufus nods as Tseng slips a silken blindfold over his eyes. He shushes him once more, lips at his jawline, and the hollow of his throat.

Tseng leans forward then, slick fingers sliding inside, gliding along the tight heat. Rufus exhales all at once, and Tseng knows he’s found the spot that Rufus so loves being stimulated. He’s taken other lovers but few have enjoyed being so thoroughly fucked. He presses a soft kiss above the blindfold, fingers withdrawing momentarily before they are replaced with something hard, cold, and unyielding. Rufus cries out then as the glass phallus slides home. Tseng loves teasing him with toys, ones larger than his own cock, even if he is all too aware of how his lover most often sought pleasure from ones that reminded him of Tseng’s. He twists the object teasingly, the raised surface dragging just so along Rufus’ inner walls.

‘Please.’

There’s the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of a bottle being uncapped, and then a long sigh. Tseng watches Rufus intently, cock hard and leaking, stretched wide on a glass toy. He hovers above him, knees braced alongside and guides Rufus’ cock inside with a low groan. Rufus’ mouth parts in a silent cry as his lover’s heat surrounds him, and when Tseng bottoms out, he cannot contain the gasp of pleasure, the sweet bite of pain. He rarely finds himself on the receiving end, Rufus often begging to be held down and fucked, or to ride him until he comes undone. But today, Tseng needs this, the closeness, the trust, giving himself up to his lover. He lifts himself up once, sighing at the feel of Rufus inside him, and reaches down behind them to thrust the toy deeper into Rufus’ ass. Rufus does cry out then, hand flying up to grasp at Tseng’s forearm as if to ground himself.

‘I want to see you.’

Tseng smiles, and begins to fuck himself on Rufus’ straining cock. ‘Not yet. Focus on me.’ Though Tseng quickly realizes that to be quite a feat even for himself as Rufus’s hips rock upwards to meet him, sliding deeper and harder with each movement. The toy in Rufus’ ass slips in further still, Tseng intent on working it against his prostate as he continues to increase his own pace.

‘Please. Let me look.’

Rufus is capable of removing the blindfold himself, but Tseng knows he will not until he’s given permission. He bends forward to press a soft kiss against Rufus’ lips. ‘I need you to focus on the way this feels.’ He reaches down then to hold Rufus’ palm flush against his chest, to feel the beat of his heart, without the distraction of seeing that damnable scar. Tseng closes his eyes, as well. Rufus is nearly perfect still, the injuries he sustained are far more lasting than scars, but he wishes to focus on the feel, the sounds, the way Rufus sighs and moans and shudders beneath him.

‘I’m not going to last--’

Tseng knows the telltale signs, the way Rufus’s hips seem to stutter beneath the curve of his ass, and pulls the blindfold off to reveal lust blown pupils. The sound that escapes Rufus’ mouth in the wake of it is strangled, as if the sight of Tseng there, split open on his cock, riding him, is enough to leave him speechless. He lifts himself up halfway, and slams himself back down, before twisting the glass toy in Rufus ass a few more times, zeroing in on his prostate until Rufus seizes beneath him, hips rocking upwards harder as he comes deep inside Tseng, who in turn takes his own cock in hand, working himself until he’s overcome with the white hot pleasure, and spills himself all across his lover’s chest with a deep groan. They stay entwined for a short while longer, Rufus’ fingertips trailing along his torso to drag a bit of Tseng’s release into his mouth, sighing at the taste of him on his tongue.

They lay together for the remainder of the afternoon and into the early evening, enjoying a bottle of champagne on ice, the sea breeze wafting through open windows, listening to the mournful wail of a buoy on the waves.

Rufus leans in closer, head resting against Tseng’s shoulder. They will have to return to reality at some point, he accepts, but for now he is content to remain here close.

There’s not much in the way of dining options, their favourite spot on the beach indefinitely closed due to the apocalypse, but there is a Wutaian place offering delivery. Tseng dials up the number, placing what truly seems like an obscenely unnecessary amount of take out, but it will reheat nicely, and the less time spent worrying about food, the more time they can share wrapped up in one another’s arms. There’s another old movie muted on the television, and the faintest of jazz plays softly from the stereo. And for the briefest of moments they pretend they're back in one of those stolen moments when Tseng would slip away from Midgar with an overnight bag, and spend several days finding new and exciting ways to make love. Rufus hated Junon, or so he had always thought, but now, here in the soft familiarity of this place, it feels almost like home. Funny how he’d spent so many years fighting the prison it served, only to return here, and find that all his fondest memories had been made within these walls.

They spread out cardboard containers before them, wooden chopsticks in hand. It’s hardly the culinary fare they are used to in Midgar, but there is something very comforting about steamed dumplings, and bao, and rice. Rufus looks up to see Tseng smiling as he takes another bite of a dumpling.

‘What?’

‘I love you.’

‘Stop.’

‘I do. I never said it … or not enough.’

Rufus looks away then, as he realizes that Tseng is being entirely serious here. That he chooses now of all times to confess what’s been arguably far too many years of dancing around those three words. And yet. ‘You didn’t need to.’ It’s not an untruth. Rufus knows that at some point in their relationship he had gone from desperately needing to hear Tseng voice his affection to simply _knowing_.

‘I know, but I should have, and when I thought I might never have the chance in this life--’

There’s a soft smile on Rufus’ lips, as if a bit flustered, perhaps even embarrassed by this sudden admission. ‘I didn’t think you simply stuck around because I was a good lay. Well, maybe just a little, I am a _very_ good lay, you have to admit.’

‘I can’t argue with that.’

Setting aside a carton of rice, Rufus continues to try to direct his attention elsewhere, as to not drown in Tseng’s gaze, worried that if he allows this moment to continue on he might be forced to show some form of emotion, knowing that he is on the verge of breaking and admitting all of his fears, and hopes, and that simply will not do. ‘I can’t promise I’ll always be honest.’ He begins. ‘But I can’t do this without you. Midgar--’ He pauses, inhales, thinks of his city, whatever is left of it at least. ‘I need you as much as I ever have, and I can’t ask you to stay because of duty, or your job.’

‘Rufus.’

He looks up then.

‘My life is with you.’

They retreat to the bedroom some time later. Tseng has made them tea scented of jasmine. He settles himself near Rufus as his lover combs his hair in quiet intimacy.

‘Jasmine is a symbol of eternal love in my country.’

‘You’ve never spoken much of Wutai.’

‘I suppose nearly dying made me sentimental.’ It isn’t home, not any longer, but Tseng thinks of how he had thought he would die there in the ruins of that temple, and he wishes now to once more see his homeland, to take Rufus there in time. That part of himself had lay buried for a decade and a half, as he threw his entire being into his loyalty to Shinra. But now, in the wake of the averted apocalypse, he considers that he may at least find a balance between the two.

Rufus sips the fragrant tea, enjoying the subtle floral sweetness as he slides a comb through silken strands, and when he sets both aside, he leans in close, nuzzles against Tseng’s ear. They lay together beneath the covers, arms and legs entwined, and when Tseng dozes off, Rufus presses a soft kiss to the top of his head.

Tseng awakes to the darkness, panting and trembling, eyes staring into the shadows of this place, as a hand moves frantically across his torso as if to staunch the flow of blood. Rufus is awakened moments later, his expression one of confusion and concern.

Another nightmare.

Rufus leans forward, hand tracing along the scar, feeling Tseng’s racing heartbeat beneath his fingertips. ‘Tell me.’

Tseng does, of cold steel, and the iron tang of blood in his mouth, of his certainty that he would die. The way the Cetra girl had cried for him, and absolved him of his sins even as he cursed Shinra, his duty, his misguided loyalty, and the ruination of it all. Rufus says nothing, listening to the words, knowing that they had been his orders, his own folly, the sins of his father, and his failure as a leader. That he had so very willingly allowed Tseng to go knowing what he had seen. Those visions of his lover dying amid the ruins, and the guilt that he will never fully cast off. Tseng’s scars are visible, his own less so, but he thinks of the lingering trauma and fears, that this Turk who is trained to be ruthless, calculating, unafraid, is haunted.

‘Forgive me.’ Rufus breathes, aware that there is no repairing this, that it will take time for Tseng to heal. His own ghosts are not easily dispelled. The energy blast that had nearly ended his life, robbed him of his own unhindered mobility, and taken his sight. He remembers laying there amid the ashen wreck of his office, unseeing, bloodied, and terrified. Of how for the briefest of terrible moments he had thought to drag himself to the gaping wound in the side of his building, and find release in a quick death.

They hold each other close, heads resting against the other’s, and focus on the comfort and shared warmth, but sleep does not come easily, and after a while Rufus rises from the bed, clad in nothing but a silken robe, and stares out across the shipyard, the sweeping pass of lights from ships, and listens to the sound of crashing waves, the moan of buoys, and the distant rumble of thunder.

Tseng joins him, arms looping about his shoulders as he pulls him close against him.

‘I miss it.’ Rufus sighs into the stillness of the room.

‘I know.’ Tseng’s lips find the nape of his neck. ‘I miss it, too, Sir.’

_Fin_


End file.
